how you look after you collided with a cop car,’ said her mother.
‘And how many mothers can say that about their kid’s picture? That’s gotta be more interesting than the usual snap.’
‘Snap? Snap?!’ Sabina’s hands were on her hips, her voice raised unusually loud. Ruby thought she maybe needed another of Hitch’s herbal teas. ‘Do you have any idea what a privilege it is to have Ada Borland take your picture? I was ecstatic when I won that raffle but you, you couldn’t just do this one thing for me, you had to louse it up Ruby, because it’s all about you and what you want! If my daughter could have just done this single sweet thing for me, I swear I’d be happy until Christmas!’
Sabina turned and strode out of the room with such force that the soap fell out of the soap dish. Ruby heard her mother dial the photographer’s number and leave a message to the effect that she was very sorry but her daughter had been in an accident and the portrait would have to be cancelled. Ruby felt truly bad. As much as she didn’t particularly want her photograph taken, even if it was to be by the great Ada Borland, she did understand how much it meant to her mother. But what could she do?
She tried to block out these unpleasant feelings by switching on the TV matinee and strangely it was while watching The Rise of the Zombies that Ruby thought of something.
She had a plan.
SHE PICKED UP THE PHONE AND DIALLED RED’S NUMBER. She got lucky – Mrs Monroe answered. ‘Sadie, it’s Ruby, I wondered if you could help me out.’
‘Sure, I’ll try,’ replied Sadie. ‘What is it you need?’
‘It’s a kinda weird request but I was wondering if there was any way your friend Frederick Lutz could do me a favour. It’s just when I met him at the Scarlet Pagoda costume benefit he said if I ever wanted to get my make-up done for a special occasion then he would do it.’
‘If Frederick said that then it’s a done deal,’ said Sadie. ‘He never backs out of a promise.’
‘The thing is,’ said Ruby, ‘it’s kinda time-sensitive.’
‘How time-sensitive?’ asked Sadie.
‘Like now,’ said Ruby.
‘Ah,’ said Sadie, ‘no wriggle room?’
‘None,’ said Ruby, ‘I’m kinda desperate.’
‘That bad, huh? Hang in there Ruby, and I’ll get right back to you.’
Ruby didn’t have to wait long, Sadie called barely seven minutes later.
‘Frederick would be delighted to see you, get over there as quick as you can.’ She gave Ruby the address and wished her luck with whatever the emergency was. This was one of the things Ruby liked about Sadie, she didn’t ask too many questions. When Ruby reached the payphone on the corner of Cedarwood, she called Ada Borland’s studio and left another message from her “mother”.
‘Hi, this is Sabina Redfort again. Sorry for the confusion but it turns out I was over-dramatising. . . as usual. . .. I know. I’m a total worry worm –’ pause for laughter – ‘really, it’s wart? Well there you go, I’m a worry wart. Anyway, my daughter will be with you after all, boy that kid is a real trooper, an inspiration to us all.’
Ruby arrived at 119 Derilla Drive to find Frederick Lutz sitting on a lawn chair in his driveway. On his lap was a dachshund. He raised a hand in greeting and slowly heaved himself up from his chair. ‘Come on in,’ he said. ‘This is Paullie,’ he added, indicating the dachshund.
The dachschund raised its head and regarded Ruby sleepily.
‘Hey Paullie,’ said Ruby.
Lutz stood, lifting Paullie carefully. He set the dog down on the grass, and Paullie stood on his tiny legs waiting.
‘Come,’ said Lutz.
He led Ruby into his workshop, a spare room that he had converted into a kind of salon, every surface covered with movie memorabilia. He sat her down in a swivel chair in front of a brightly lit mirror, and took in the horror show that was her face.
‘So I see we are starting with Halloween and heading backwards. Kind of unusual for me; I usually start off with pretty and head on in the other direction.’
‘Yeah, I know, it’s bad huh – is there anything you can do with it?’
‘Can I do anything? Can I do anything? Kid, you’re talking to Frederick Lutz here, course I can do anything! Never fear, I’ll have you looking like Shirley Temple in the blink of an eye – that’s the look we’re going for right?’ he winked.
Ruby smiled. ‘Well, something along those lines.’
The Hollywood make-up genius worked on Ruby for a good couple of hours and while he worked he talked. Mainly he talked about the old days when the industry was dominated by sirens of the silver screen – Erica Grey, Bette Davis, Lauren Bacall.
‘They were some women, I can tell you,’ said Frederick, ‘they don’t make ’em like that any more.’
The make-up artist’s walls were crammed with framed photographs and posters of the actors he had worked with and the movies he had worked on and stuff he had collected over the years. There were no end of big names. One poster that caught her eye was the one for The Cat that Got the Canary. The image was of the Little Yellow Shoes, and Margo’s lower legs were all that could be seen of the actress. A black cat walked off to the right of the picture, a yellow feather in its mouth. It was a striking image. The poster was signed by the actress herself.
‘So did you meet her?’ asked Ruby, pointing to the poster.
‘Oh, many times,’ said Frederick. ‘One fabulous lady, too bad she married that George Katsel.’
‘Not nice?’ asked Ruby.
Frederick scrunched his face into a sour expression. ‘Not nice at all, only interested in himself. It was all about him and what he wanted; never did a thing for anyone else.’
Ruby winced – the words so closely echoed her mother’s.
‘He had magnetic appeal though, it was hard for anyone to resist him when he set his baby blues on something.’
‘Old George sounds like quite the egomaniac,’ said Ruby.
‘You better believe it,’ said Frederick, shaking his head. ‘They called him the Cat, because he was so darned lucky. Katsel always got what he wanted, always the Cat that got the cream.’ Frederick paused, to make a careful adjustment to Ruby’s foundation. ‘I met Margo after that time, long after she broke it off with George and much later on in her career when she was already quite famous and I can’t think of a bad word to say about her, except I wish she hadn’t been so darned tall.’
‘Funny.
